A Very Sherlockian Thanksgiving
by Autumnstar17
Summary: Sherlock and John their genderbends Sherly and Joan attempt to host an American Thanksgiving dinner. Unfortunately, everything that can possibly go wrong does. (Co-written by me, Scottie, and Willow.)
1. Chapter 1

From the moment Sherly and Joan arrived, all of 221b had begun to frantically divide up work, hoping to have the metaphorical table (since the only two real ones they had were piled with Sherlock's junk) laid and ready for guests by sunset. John was sent back to the supermarket a whopping four times within the first hour and a half since they started cooking. Meanwhile, Sherly and Joan continued to bicker on and off as Joan busied herself with the majority of the cooking and Sherly mostly took to hovering over her shoulder and generally getting in the way of things. Sherlock took on whatever task Joan handed to him, be it chopping up apples or mashing potatoes.

And dishes. Did I mention dishes? Lots of dishes. Piles and piles of dishes. Half of the dishes he'd just washed would immediately be picked up again and then reused, after which point Sherlock would have to start the whole process over.

By the end of the day Sherlock never wanted to see another dish again.

***

_Bang!_

"Bloody - WHAT WAS THAT?" John shrieked, quite nearly falling over in his surprise.

"That would be the chestnuts," Joan explained, shoving John out of the way and slipping on a pair of oven mitts to open up the microwave oven.

A little ways away Sherly began singing softly, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…"

"Roasting? No. Exploding, more like," Sherlock mused.

***

"Aren't you supposed to sew up the rear end?"

"I thought it had something to do with shoving an onion up the…"

"No, no, I'm pretty sure it was sewing."

"OUT OF THE WAY, I'M USING AN APPLE AS THE BUTT-PLUG!" Sherly exclaimed, sticking half an apple into the bottom of the raw turkey.

***

"…shit. I think that was the last of the butter," Joan realized. "JOHN!"

"On it," the doctor sighed, already pulling on his coat.

***

"CAREFUL, THAT PAN IS—"

"OUCH! Mother fucker!"

_Clang, splash!_

"FFFFFFFUCKING GREASE, GODDAMN—"

"…hot." Sherlock frowned before reaching out and taking a look at his sister's burnt finger. "Eh. You'll live."

"Yes, thank you for that brilliant deduction," Sherly hissed, pulling away. "Why don't you go see if Joan has any more dishes for you to wash?"

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder to find the pile already beginning to stack up once again. He made a face before ducking out of the room.

"Nope," he whispered under his breath.

***

John set the brand new tub of butter on the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to stomp the cold out of his shoes.

"John," Joan said brightly upon sighting him. "Do you have another can of peas—?"

John heaved a weary sigh and turned around again.

***

"John, where do you want me to put the ones that we didn't use?"

"Are they already in a ziplock bag? You can go ahead and keep them in the…" John pulled open the fridge before shutting it again rather quickly. "Ah, yes. Um. I can see why that might be a problem. I don't suppose the cupboards would work?"

***

"What's going on?" Joan demanded, folding her arms across her chest with a huff.

"We're watching the Macy's parade," Sherly beamed, turning the laptop to show her. The others, all crowded around the armchair in which she sat, nodded in agreement.

"Why would you watch…" Joan shook her head. "Y'know what, never mind. All of you, get on up! Back in the kitchen, lazy arses! Not you, John. I just used up the last of the butter you brought in."

***

_Crash!_

"Well, Sherlock, looks like you won't be needing to wash that one! Now, if you'd be a dear and fetch the broom…"

_Isn't this why we have a landlady_? Sherlock thought to himself unhappily as he rummaged through his closet in search of something to sweep up the broken glass with.

***

There was yet another loud thud as John accidentally flipped the bowl of mashed potatoes upside down and onto the tile floor.

"Are you kidding me?!" Sherlock snapped, throwing his arms out to his sides dramatically. "I made those all by myself!"

John felt himself turning a bright shade of pink. "U-Um, well… uh… I-I am, SO, sorry… Maybe you can… um…" Already on his knees, he was attempting to pick up the lost bits of potato as they crumbled into even smaller pieces and squished onto anything and everything. "Well, you could… always remake it? They didn't take you that long, and uh…"

"But we didn't buy any extra potatoes," Sherlock whined.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll head back over there in a minute," John groaned, defeated.

***

The apple pie was perhaps the single food item that hadn't turned out to be a complete disaster. Once finished it had been set up on a cooling rack over a stack of papers on the coffee table. With the potato mess cleaned up, John was just about to gather his things when a crashing about in the living room alerted the gang that something was amiss. Sure enough, there was Gladstone, eagerly helping himself to the entire pie.

"Bad dog!" Joan yelled, clapping her hands as she rushed to the scene of the crime. Gladstone barked rather loudly before leaping into Sherlock's arms and began licking at the bottom of his chin.

"Well. At least there's still the turkey?" Sherly offered. "Speaking of, it should be about done by now. How long since we last checked it? Two hours?"

"Two?" John echoed. "Didn't Joan say it only had about forty minutes left?"

Cue the smoke alarm.

***

"Oh god, oh god, WHAT DO I DO?" Sherly shrieked, holding the both flaming and charred turkey out in front of her. The pan was heavy and she was beginning to worry that she might lose the whole thing any minute now.

"Well, staring at it certainly isn't going to help!" Joan spat at the top of her lungs. "Put the damned thing out!"

With all of her strength Sherly managed to fling the ruined turkey out of the opened second-story window. In the moments that followed there was a devastated silence, save the faint beeping from the alarm still going off.

"Nearly six-thirty," John muttered with a glance at his watch. "The guests are supposed to be here in a half hour."

Joan collapsed to the ground where she stood, sobbing. "My Thanksgiving dinner… It's ruined, thanks to you idiots…"

The others exchanged concerned glances. "It's not too late to cancel," Sherlock suggested after some time.


	2. Chapter 2

Joan had to be moved to the couch, because she'd flopped dramatically onto her stomach right in the middle of the living room where people were supposed to walk and refused to respond to anyone. Sherlock curled up in his chair to sulk, and John and Sherly discussed the approaching dinnerless dinner with awkward trepidation.

"Can't we just tell them all to go back home?" Sherly asked. "'Haha just kidding, we don't actually have a turkey.' We can say it's an early April Fools thing."

John raised an eyebrow at her. "They'll think we're nuts."

"Most people already think that, though. So it'll just be in-character for us."

John rubbed his hands over his face and let out a long sigh that slowly turned into a groan. "But I already called and begged them to come over so we can all have a cozy little get-together as friends and stuff, and I really hate going back on my word, and… I don't know if I can do that, Sherly." He dropped his hands to his sides. "Do you think they'd mind if we served oatmeal instead of turkey? I can totally make ten bowls of oatmeal in thirty minutes."

"Lestrade is allergic," Sherlock muttered into his knees.

John huffed. "Well he's never told me that."

"He doesn't know," Sherlock snapped. "Bloody idiot thinks it's just indigestion or something—"

"Greg can have cereal, then," John said, throwing his hands up.

"Guys," Sherly interrupted. "I really really really doubt we'll be able to save this thing. I say we just… cancel. They're your friends, right? They'll understand."

"NO," Joan suddenly shrieked from the couch. She flailed and fell off into the floor. "We can't cancel thirty minutes before the arranged time, are you crazy?! And this is THANKSGIVING! It's about FAMILY! We are having a lovely dinner even if everyone has to eat cereal and we do nothing but stare at each other and sit in awkward silence for an hour! Don't you people know anything about American holidays?"

"What's all this ruckus up here for?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she came into the living room. "Is the turkey done yet? I'm starving! And that handsome Detective Inspector fellow is at the door with a lady friend, I think—"

"Er, about the turkey," John began uneasily.


	3. Chapter 3

" Moran, " Jim whispered from the passenger seat of their car, " Moran go faster we're not going to get there on timmeeee. " He held a smartphone in his hand, and was watching several areas of 221B from it. So was a large majority of London. He'd been broadcasting a live feed of their Thanksgiving shenanigans for the longer half of the evening. Word got out and people tuned in. He assumed all of Scotland Yard was gathered around a large screen television and laughing their arses off at how hilarious their failures were.

No, really. The Holmeses and Watsons knew nothing about preparing a proper Thanksgiving meal.

Guests were filing in the door and there was no food there awaiting them. Many murmurs and glares were shared, a few people hung in corners or were complaining to the hosts. It was all rather amusing, however the fun wouldn't last too long. Especially if they didn't, " HURRY UP, SEBASTIAAAAAN, " Jim screeched, flailing his arms at the device in his hands. " They're all going to leave and then where will we be? Huh? Nowhere, that's where. Stuck in a car of the side of the road with our backseats FULL OF PIZZA and the Holmes will be so alone and so bored and DO YOU WANT THAT? NO ONE WANT'S THAT MORAN SPEED THE HELL UP. "  
The larger man flattened the gas pedal, lurching the car forward and Moriarty into the front dash.  
" WHAT THE HELL SEBASTIAN I SAID SPEED UP NOT WRECK THE CAR, "  
Sebastian chuckled, returning the vehicle to a normal speed. " Well, next time you either learn some patience, or wear a seatbelt. "

-x-

The couple stood outside the wooden door to 221B. Sebastian's arms were full of pizza, about seven boxes to be exact. Jim stood beside him, bouncing on his toes. His arms were full of bags of glittery goodness, ready to be thrown and all over and ground into the carpet.

"Okay Sebastian, make your your suit is straight. Make the knot of your tie line up with your vest. Your hair should be parted to the right, not the left. All buttons lined straight and facing the same direction, shoes tied, socks rolled, pants pleated and clean. "

" Boss, I'm carrying seven boxes of pizza I can't really change anything now, " They swapped glares before facing the door again.

" FINE THEN, " Jim straightened his back and shoulders, " Be the one looking like a tiger pulled out of a sewer I do NOT CARE, " he huffed. " On three.. "

One.

Two.

Three.

Sebastians large foot made contact with the door. The locks broke, and the old rusty hinges failed to keep it attached to the pane.

" MERRY CHIRSTMa- no wait that's the wrong HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVEr- Sebastian move. "

Sebastian was still standing in the doorway, looking at all the shocked faces that greeted him and his pizza. A coating of glitter now hung to his back where Moriarty had thrown and he hadn't budged. The sniper awkwardly shuffled out of the way of the door, Jim glaring after him, tightly clutching his remaining bag of confetti. He returned his attention to the party, smiling happily and tossing the confetti into the air.

" HAPPY THANKSGIVING~~~ " He sung.

The other party goers were still stunned into silence, their eyes locked on the mass murderer at the door, and his behemoth bodyguard beside him. John came barreling around a corner. "Jim Moriarty… " He mumbled, " Jim Moriarty in my house. Jim Moriarty in my house. Jim Moriarty in my house! "

" Yes, Johnny, we get it. I am currently standing in your doorway, in your house, " Jim rolled his eyes.

" Sher… SHERLOOOOOOCK, " John called, running off to wherever his partner was currently hiding.


	4. Chapter 4

An uneasy silence filled 221b as the unlikely ensemble crowded around the pushed together tables. The pizza boxes sat tauntingly in the middle of the huddle when there was a loud knock at the door. Everyone looked up at John expectantly. He sighed, already getting up, and pushed in his seat.

John unlatched the door to find Donovan and Anderson waiting just outside, decked out in red, white, and blue stars and stripes from head to toe. In Anderson's arms was a large pastry box, inside of it was most likely an apple pie, guessing from the bit of it visible at the top. John blinked repeatedly, taking the whole scene in.

"Well?" Lestrade grunted from the table. "Let them in and let's get on with this thing!"

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Donovan and Ander—"

Before John knew what was happening, Sherlock was at his side and slamming the door shut on the newcomers. He frowned. "Sherlock, that was rude."

"And?"

"…and they came bearing pie. Although I dislike them nearly as much as you, given the circumstances, they're welcome to join us." He added quickly: "Might I remind you of our other pair of surprise guests?"

Sherlock sighed and headed back towards the dinner table as John welcomed Donovan and Anderson into their home reluctantly. Once everyone was settled in and seated once more, Joan made everyone take one another's hand to say grace, whether they wanted to or not.

"Dear God," Joan began. Sherly snorted beside her, which was acknowledged with a hard elbow jab into her side. Joan continued: "We thank you for… Well, I was going to say we thank you for all this lovely food and everyone's hard work, but I suppose the speech I'd originally prepared is no longer relevant. In any case, what we do thank you for is helping us pull through after an… exciting and unfortunately fruitless escapade. If it weren't for Jim Moriarty, we likely wouldn't still be here. And you better be pretty fucking pleased with yourself, because this is the only time you're going to be hearing it from me, but: thank you for extending your hand to us when we needed it. To Jim."

She looked up, lifting her glass. Realizing just who they were expected to toast to, many of the other guests either lifted their glasses in silence or made no effort to participate at all.

Moriarty beamed obnoxiously at the few glasses that did clink. "Oh oh oh! Can I add a few words?" he begged as soon as they were finished.

"Uh. I suppose," Molly answered, looking to the others for confirmation. Lestrade sighed loudly, but other than that no one said anything and Moriarty continued.

"I appreciate the little gesture back there, I really do, but I would also like to thank all of you, Holmes and Watsons, for providing me and Sebby here with such entertainment this morning. Oh man, if you only could've seen how hard we - rather, I - was laughing upon witnessing the turkey go flying out the window! Oh oh, or the looks of devastation upon all of your faces when you realized you weren't going to have a meal ready when your guests arrived!" Moriarty took a moment to wipe away a joyful tear. "Good times, good times… Anyway," he went on, "the main reason I came wasn't just because you found yourselves in a spot of trouble and I was in an unusually good mood. Half us are only here with the promise of free food. The other half, myself included, came to celebrate the true meaning of the holiday. Late or not, American or British, who cares? Thanksgiving is, as its name suggests, about giving thanks. Honestly I hate every single one of you, I really do, but you know what? That doesn't mean I can't be thankful for all the entertainment you provide. Mycroft, John, Sherlock… let's put our differences aside for just a moment. Like it or not, you need me just as much as I need you, and that's certainly something to be thankful for." He lifted his own glass, saying, "To people we're thankful to have in our lives."

Although hesitant at first, most everyone did eventually join in on the toast.

"And now we dig in!" Lestrade called out before anyone else had the chance to make another sappy speech.

Much to the entire group's surprise, the remainder of the evening went on quite smoothly. The mixed group of unlikely friends, sworn enemies, and feuding family members took turns telling embarrassing stories about one another, discussing their interests, and sneaking Gladstone bits of pizza and apple pie from under the table when they thought no one else would notice. It's funny, really; how sometimes, something as silly as a small get-together to celebrate a silly foreign holiday could end up bringing out the best in people. By the time everyone had finished their makeshift dinner, all found themselves in the best of spirits and getting along like the old friends.


	5. Chapter 5

_EPILOGUE:_

That was, of course, until Moriarty emptied by himself an entire bottle of wine that Lestrade brought and said, "You know what we should do? We should play spin the bottle. That is what we should do."

And somehow, that's what they did, gathered in a circle around the empty wine bottle on the living room rug. Many people protested, though no one actually fought that hard.

"Okay, who's going first?" Moriarty asked with delight.

Mycroft, who had only showed up because John had demanded it and stayed because he'd been promised pie, turned to leave with a dramatic flourish of his umbrella. "Well, it's been delightful," he drawled.

"DO WE HAVE A VOLUNTEER?" Moriarty shouted. "Today is your lucky day, Mr. Gov-er-Gover'ment!" The consulting criminal threw his arms around Mycroft's legs, and nudged the wine bottle closer with his toe. "Okay, ready? Onetwothree GO!"

"This is childish," Mycroft insisted and heaved a great sigh. He flicked the wine bottle with the tip of his umbrella. It spun in place a few times, landed on Molly, and then rolled a bit until the neck tapped against the sole of Lestrade's shoe.

"Oooh," Moriarty said. "Gurl, you better kiss him. He's looking sassy."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am leaving now. Goodnight."

"NUH UH YOU STILL GOTTA KISS HIM," Moriarty shouted, clinging to the man's ankles. "Because of raisins," he added as an afterthought.

Mycroft gave Lestrade a long-suffering look.

"I dunno, he kind of has a point," Lestrade said. "Raisins are very convincing."

"_Goodnight_, Detective Inspector," Mycroft snapped. He batted Moriarty off of his legs with his umbrella and stalked away into the dark.

Moriarty started to slow-clap. "Brilliant first round guys," he said. "Really, I mean it. Let's try again, shall we? Here!" He shoved the wine bottle toward the next person to his right, who just so happened to be Molly. "Yooour tuuuuurrrrnn!"

She looked at it as if it would bite her, which she couldn't be blamed for considering who was handing it to her. Regardless, she took it anyway and spun that bottle like a champ, fingers crossed for Sherlock.

Molly ended up getting Sherly. That was just as well in her opinion. Their kiss was short and sweet, and Molly sat back blushing while Sherly waggled her eyebrows at a frowning Joan. Next up was John, whose spin landed halfway between Sherlock and Lestrade where Gladstone was wedged, busy licking himself. John happily snatched the puppy up and kissed his nose, relieved that he wouldn't have to choose between his brilliant flatmate and the handsome DI.

"Sherlock," John said and turned toward the empty spot beside him. "I th—Sherlock?"

"I don't want to play," Sherlock's voice called from behind John's armchair. He'd been attempting to scoot his way to freedom. The doctor caught up with him, however, and dragged him back to the circle by his armpits.

"Oh come on, you don't have to stick your tongue in someone else's mouth, we aren't _that _evil," John said. "At least take a spin, though. You never know who you'll get!"

Sherlock stared at him intensely for a moment before sucking in a deep breath and kicking the neck of the bottle with his heel. It spun for an absurdly long time.

It stopped right in front of Joan.

"Um," Sherlock said uncertainly.

"Hey, don't look so down," she said, crawling around the DI with a grin. "Not like I bite." Joan shoved Sherlock onto his back so his head landed in John's lap, and then she proceeded to snog him thoroughly.

This was uncomfortable for _everyone_. Sherlock didn't know where to put his hands, Lestrade and Molly had no idea if they should be interested in this or not, and John and Sherly were _furious_.

"Yes, okay, we get it," Moriarty said loudly. "We don't actually want him to suffocate to death. Off, please."

Joan pulled away with a giggle, pressed one last kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth, and returned to Sherly's side absurdly pleased with herself.

"With my _brother_," Sherly hissed, disgusted. "This is a new low for you. He has_cooties_, Joan!"

Sherlock stared up at John in a daze. "Um," he said, again.

"Have fun?" John asked tartly.

Lestrade cleared his throat and grabbed the wine bottle. "Whelp, guess it's my turn!"

It must've been Molly's lucky night. After asking her permission and then planting a very gentlemanly kiss on her lips, the DI decided the carpet next to Molly was far superior to that on the other side of the circle. The two then began chatting about their respective jobs and, consequently, their favorite local coffee shops at which to spend their lunch breaks.

"Gag," Moriarty declared loudly. "Joan, go! Add some lesbian before we die of hetero!"

Joan didn't like being told what to do, but to be honest, everyone in attendance was attractive, and what Joan _did _like was kissing attractive people.

Joan's spin landed on Donovan, who was a surprisingly good sport about it. Then Sherly spun and had to kiss Mrs. Hudson on the cheek when the woman walked in wondering if anyone wanted another scone. Next it was Donovan's turn again, and that time she shared an awkward peck with the stoic and sulking Moran—who, after Anderson refused to spin for fear of getting Sherlock—was badgered into spinning the bottle by a tipsy Moriarty who threatened to fire him and then set him on fire.

Moran got John. What followed was the weirdest muscle-flexing glare-kiss to ever exist. Lestrade and Sherlock were prepared to jump in in case John started to literally eat Moran's face off.

"Fiiiiiinallyyyy! Myyyy tuuuuurn!" Moriarty sang, wiggling happily in place. He snatched the wine bottle up, took a few deep breaths, set the bottle spinning in the middle of the circle, and crossed his fingers.

It landed on Anderson.

"Game's over, we're leaving," Moriarty announced.

Sherlock burst out laughing and continued until he cried. After Moran left with his stumbling and ranting boss and Anderson and Donovan called it a night (because Sherlock couldn't stop cackling every time he looked at them), the remaining guests gathered around the kitchen table to chat and tell stories and watch Gladstone trying to play with the snooty cat named Toby that Molly had brought with her because she was afraid "he would get lonely." Sherly and Joan made up, John forgot he was angry at Sherlock, and Molly awkwardly asked Lestrade out on a purely professional not-date, which he accepted enthusiastically.

Also, Mycroft got to eat half a cake when he got home and didn't gain any weight.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ THE END


End file.
